Shadow Play
by TheColdMachine
Summary: Temptation dances in the dark corners. Shathan romangst. New summary because the old one made even less sense.
1. Sleeping with ghosts

**& & &**

(I excel at ambiguously crappy summaries xD)**  
**

I win at procrastination. I was working on my Nathan/Amber ficlet-story-call-it-what-you-will, and got completely sidetracked while listening to Muse's song 'Stockholm Syndrome'. And then this showed up.

_Is it still procrastination if you're getting _something_ done?_

Well, I don't know. But this is something. Something to do with the Wallace family. And wincest.

(_hint: It's __**not**__ Largocest_)

It won't be at all explicit (I'm too gutless for that), and doesn't come up for a few chapters, but it will be present. Turn tail and run now if that's not to your liking. Personally, I think this pairing is win, and I've been trying to think of a way to write this for a while.

(If you missed the hint, this will be ShilohxNathan. Hints of MagxNathan in this chapter too, if you want to read it that way.)

I have five 'chaplets' done—I can't honestly call them chapters--and a sixth planned. Format-wise, it will be similar to Poster of a Girl, but I'll do my best to weed out any glaring similarities.

Also, apparently, in my mind, Nathan is a manwhore, and a total pedo. And a schizophrenic, possibly-necrophiliac, homicidal, sadomasochist. And I luffs him so.

If all of my author's notes are this long, I should probably start a blog or something. I apologize profusely for subjecting you to my inane blathering.

I probably shouldn't be drinking so much coffee.

**& & &**

**PI. SLEEPING WITH GHOSTS.**

_He lies and tells himself he's fine._

_He lies a lot._

"Dad, who's that?"

Immediately he responds, "I'm not sure." She jabs a finger roughly into his shoulder, and he sighs a little, looking at her over his glasses. "You didn't look," she explains. He's trying to look annoyed, but with her smiling like that, he can't. Moving the book aside, he lifts his head. Shiloh holds the slim photo album near his face. He takes it from her gently and looks over the open pages.

"Who, honey?"

So Shiloh shows him, points at the faded photograph in one corner. She's pointing at Mag.

"The one next to Mom."

And she's still pointing at Mag.

"It looks like you're talking to her."

Pointing at Mag. The one he'd been talking to. Stopped talking to, years ago.

Mag. The one who was as intimate with grief as he after she died.

Maybe he's overreacting. She's just pointing at a woman. Just a woman.

I'm not sure, he wants to repeat himself. I'm not sure because the woman in the picture is dead. She died a long time ago just like the man in the picture just like Marni in the picture. People die, and, he isn't sure why, their mouths keep moving and their hearts keep beating. _For her_. And he's not sure who her is: Marni or Shiloh or Mag.

He notices, she's noticed his face and looks worried. That's his job, though, and he smiles a little. For her sake, whoever her is. Shiloh sees this and brightens right up, and he lies like he always does.

"She's not familiar."

And Shiloh's a bit disappointed, but she's quiet like she always is. She takes the album back when he offers it. He leans back into the chair for a moment as she turns to the next page, and then he stands up.

"Do you want anything from the kitchen?" Shiloh doesn't look up, only shakes her head, and he leaves.

He closes the door behind him so she doesn't see him sit in the hallway, and so she doesn't worry when he curls up in the chair.

He can feel her eyes on him. And he knows who her is this time, because she's there at the end of the hallway, and she's there on the walls, guarding her own corpse.

She whispers, and against his better angels, he strains to hear her. Death has made her bitter but he has to listen.

_Monster_.

_Murderer_.

_Liar_.

That stings.


	2. Stockholm Syndrome

**PII. STOCKHOLM SYNDROME.**

"_Other people can become frail and break, but not parents._"

Shiloh has seen most of the photos before, and it's only a few minutes later that she flips the album shut and slides off the edge of her bed. She places the binder carefully back in the dusty box, moves to the door. She hadn't heard him lock it, so she tests the handle. The door silently swings open.

She practically leaps to the stairs. The hallway's always given her the creeps. The holograms remind her of dolls' eyes. They follow you when you aren't looking. So Shiloh slips by the hallways as quickly as she can, and pads down the stairs.

He's in the kitchen. _Why shouldn't he be_? She ignores her own question, and quietly stands outside. Nathan's leaning on the counter, staring intently into a cup. It looks empty, but she can't be sure.

"Dad?" He glances up immediately, and he looks a little lost. Like he had upstairs. She tries to ignore it. He can't be lost, he has to be strong and secure like he's always been. No cracks in the shining white armour.

"Can I have some water?"

"Of course," he says. The question gives him purpose, so he sets about filling a cup. It's a simple task. It's what he needs right now. She smiles as the lost look fades from his features. He always looks worried, and it's nice to see him, well—it's not quite a smile. Not yet.

He hands her the glass. "It's getting late."

"I know," she says before he can add anything. "I'm done with the photos." He nods a little, and turns away, walking back into the kitchen and putting the cup away. So it had been empty.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Shi?" He sounds annoyed, even if he doesn't mean it. After a moment, he turns back to look at her, apology written in his eyes. He almost looks like he's asking her forgiveness. Or maybe she's just imagining it.

"Tuck me in?"

He smiles now, or at least smiles as much as he ever does, and walks over to her. A fleeting, butterfly kiss on her forehead.

"I'll be up in a minute," he promises.


	3. Pulse

**& & &**

I want to thank everybody who's reviewed this thus far (and in who plans to review, for that matter). You guys are great ^^

Also, there really isn't enough Shathan. SRSLY PPL.

And I did add a bit to this to make it a tad longer. It's still short, though x3 The next parts will hopefully be more elaborate.

**& & &**

**PIII. PULSE.**

...i_n which Nate gets neurotic._

He takes the cup out of the cupboard again once she's hurried back upstairs, leaving him with his ghosts. And the cup.

The problem with ghosts is that you can't bury them. You bury bodies (well, most people did), and bless the spirits, but you can't do anything about the spectres.

At least, he thinks, the house is big enough for them all. If not, the graveyard's practically next door. He rarely goes these days. Not after the first few times, when he'd seen Mag. He'd lied and she'd listened. And this way he, he doesn't have to lie.

_Afraid to lie to old Maggie_?

Goading. Pushing him. It's nothing new; he ignores it, and concentrates on the cup. He isn't sure, but it looks like there's a small stain on the side. So he sets it aside, to be washed later. Another distraction.

From this angle, he can tell that the cup isn't stained. He looks closer. It looks flawless, with its pale, unbroken ebony. No stains, no shadows, no ghosts. He slides it back across the counter, closer, and sighs.

Shiloh's upstairs, he remembers. He's going to go up, tuck her in, kiss her goodnight, and try to forget the picture, try to forget about Mag. A good, simple plan. Nathan breathes out slowly, and he starts to put the cup away, again, when he feels the tightness in his throat.

There are no tears on his face, so it's not really crying, but the knots in his stomach are trying to crawl out his mouth. Quickly filling the cup from the tap, he swallows everything back down. He leaves the cup on the counter, and starts to trudge up the stairs. Every step takes longer than it should, and he stops near the top. The ghosts are up there. Lurking. Waiting.

_Coward_.

That pushes him up the last few steps. He looks down the hall; flickering blue projections facing off against each other. Every so often, he'll walk down the gauntlet, and examine her through the glass, talk to her. Every once in a while, he'll confess to the ghosts, hoping she's listening.

Not tonight, though. Tonight he'll just go and tuck Shi in and make sure she gets to sleep.


	4. Children's Games

**& & &**

Here's chapter four. I've changed the rating, as suggested by Sweet Je T'aime, because the very end of this chaplet kind of leads into actual interaction. And I know some people are more sensitive to that than others. If you take out the incest factor, you could still call it **T**, however ^^

This was originally supposed to have chapter three's name. Oh well.

**& & &**

**PIV. CHILDREN'S GAMES**

_Does he know?_

_She doesn't think so._

Maybe it's childish, but she does it anyway. She picks up the old toy, and presses her fingers against the window.

Nathan comes in quietly, careful not to disturb her. She's wearing the stethoscope, and pressing the metal ring to the window, like she had when she was little. He sits on the edge of her bed, and watches.

The city is clinically dead, as far as Shiloh can tell. Not even the faintest of tremors. In the books she'd read, the authors always referenced the heart of the city, or the pulse of the people. Something like that. But it's quiet.

It must be past everybody's bedtime, she tells herself. Optimism, because, well, she doesn't have much else.

There's something reflected in the glass—a familiar figure. She has Dad, too. And he has her. _Does he know that_?

After a long minute, she turns around, feigns surprise so she can smile at him. Stepping away from the window, she pushes aside the plastic curtain and sits on the bed across from him. He starts to shift when she stops him. She's gently pressing the stethoscope to his shoulder. Nathan only hesitates a moment before smiling back, nodding a little.

He tenses when she first presses the little metal ring to his chest, just beneath his collar bone. The metal must be cold. But he relaxes, and she slides the ring a little lower, until the shirt stops her from continuing.

The heartbeat is loud: a stark contrast from the city. And she remembers that time, years ago, when she'd first pulled the stethoscope off, and he'd shown her how to use it. Now, at fifteen, it's not quite so wondrous, but it's still—it still does something for her. And it's not really a child's game, not anymore.

Does he know that? The question makes her smile. She's bitter, but she doesn't let it show. And she's pretty sure the answer's no. He couldn't know because she hadn't told him.

She hasn't moved for a minute, and when she realizes this, she blinks in surprise. He's looking at her, a little concerned. When she turns her eyes up to meet his, he relaxes, and his heartbeat's loud in her ears.

Shiloh's feeling a little lightheaded now.

She should probably take some medicine.

She has to let him know that, though.

And her throat feels weak. Her voice will only be a whisper. She leans forward so he'll be able to hear her, only she forgets what she wants to say. So she improvises.


	5. The Deep End

**& & &**

**PV. THE DEEP END.**

_"And they're off!"_

She looks sad, there, standing by the window. Yearning for the heartless world outside. Maybe he should tell her.

_Lie_.

Is it worth it?

Yes, he concludes quickly, it is. It has to be, or else everything—he doesn't carry on with that train of thought. In fact, he flat-out derails it. He's only half-watching her now, as he starts to ponder the future. It's only marginally more enjoyable than thinking about the past.

Here, in the present, Shiloh's coming back, sitting across from him. She wants to listen to his heartbeat.

He nods, and the darker part of him wonders if she'll hear anything.

_People died and their hearts kept beating_. Nathan, with some effort, pushes the pessimism aside. He'll unload it later, at the expense of some poor soul. But not now. Now is good time. With his daughter. And nice feelings.

She's a little closer now. Closer, here in the present. Not in the future. No hypothetically. Right here, right now, close and sweet. Not at all—

_Liar_.

It distracts him, and that's when she kisses him. Not a fleeting butterfly-kiss, not a peck on the cheek. Not what he'd ever, ever expect to receive from Shiloh.

_Just hoped for_.

Nathan blocks this thought flat out. Simply refuses to acknowledge it. Ignore it and it will go away—

_Shiloh_?

She won't go away. She's still here, and she's not leaving him. Even if she wants to. And he's trying to think of something else, trying to distract himself or hold himself back or save him—them—from making a mistake.

_Too late_, he's reminded.

Now she draws back a little, just enough so their noses brush against each other--Eskimo kisses. She's looking up at him, and Nathan can't look away. Should, but can't. Pulling her hands away (he only notices their absence now), she slides the stethoscope from her neck, and places it over his, in its customary spot. And it feels right, there.

It's a long silence that passes, and it's heavy. The air, constricting. And he has to break from that, has to move to make sure he's still alive. It's a small gap between his face and hers, now. Smaller. Closer. Unrestricted and open.

She doesn't move back, doesn't turn away. She really should, but she isn't. That's not his fault, is it? And up close, he sees her eyes so clearly. Her eyes, not Marni's. And nothing's held back, not from him.

_You're a bad b_—he ignores the comment

Her hands move, tugging ever so slightly at the stethoscope, and Nathan's so close he can almost taste the girl. She makes a small sound, beckons with those dark eyes. He answers the call, pressing his lips to hers.

_Well, look at that._


	6. Puzzle

**&&&**

Bah. I suck. Sorry for the ridiculous delay. Shan't happen again.

I hope this chapter makes up for some of that ^^ I like how it turned out.

Also, I just realized spellcheck has been replacing Shilo with Shiloh xD

**& & &**

**PVI. PUZZLE**

_These fragile things..._

She's not sure if she can read his face. There's a few little clues scattered around, but she can't put them together. But he doesn't look so lost, like he did earlier. And that's good.

Only Shilo's not sure of that, even. There's a thin line of concentration in his brow, a slight crinkle at the eyes. She's never been so good at improvisation, and she starts to doubt herself. Just because something felt right, it didn't mean it was. A few long fragments of time seem to pass by, taking longer than they should. When he finally seems to move, she half-expects the customary 'Take your medicine.' Be a good girl. Go to bed. Her optimism starts to wilt, and she gives a tug at the stethoscope.

But none of the words come, and instead she can feel his breath on her lips, her mouth. It's almost torturous, how slow he moves. She can feel heat, down there, up here.

When they touch, it's not the sating, douse of water she expects it to be. Not really; it quenches one fire, answers one question, but lights a dozen more. Looking for answers, she tilts her head a bit, seeking a way in.

Of its own accord, her hand twists into the cloth on his chest. Her body seems to be doing its own thing, and Shilo gains confidence. Her other hand lightly rakes over his stomach.

Confidence becomes overconfidence become boldness.

Impatient isn't the right word—they have all the time in the world, don't they? But she rushes a little, starting to pull at buttons on his vest. He belongs to her (or maybe its the other way around), but for once she has access. Nothing's cordoned off here, she's sure of it. (Why would it be?)

And maybe that's a hint of fear she catches when she draws back and pulls off his glasses. But the optimist in her is saying, no, it's not. She clips them over the footboard of the bed.

A small voice in her, whispering, tells her to push him further. See what he can take.

Shilo nods to herself slightly, and moves back towards him. Leaning up, she places a soft kiss on his brow, and lingers there. Finally, Nathan moves a little, looking up. She smiles, and in one swift movement, pulls herself onto his lap. He makes a small sound, his face almost in her chest, and she slides down. Presses closer.

Her lips, his throat. Little fires running down her spine. Her teeth, now.

The burning feeling inside makes her feel stronger. He's leaning back a bit. Leaning down, and his hands slide back to support his weight Smirking into his shoulder, Shilo pulls his hands to her hips, pulls out his support. A small push and he's on his back.

He starts to push himself back up. The optimist tells her, he wants to get closer. So she pulls herself down, flattens one hand against his chest. He stops trying to get up, but he doesn't relax, either. Just stops, all tense muscles and good smells and food for the flames.

When she drags her hand down his chest, he shivers a little.

When she reaches his stomach, he makes a small sound, one she's never heard before. She does it again, and is rewarded by another muffled groan.

When she slips a hand over his belt, he--

"Shilo."


	7. Taint

**&&&**

Heh. I'm a liar. It happened again, and this is very late. I'll try to wrap this story up soon so I stop dragging it out so long. Computer (let alone internet) access has been problematic. I do believe I am cursed when it comes to modern technology.

And yes, I am rather cruel. But cliffhangers are fun.

Regardless, enjoy.

**& & &**

**PVII. TAINT**

_Crack so easy._

"Shilo."

"Dad."

Any other word, murmured in that low, wanton voice would have turned his knees to jelly. Would have made his breath catch and left him helpless, maybe begging.

But she doesn't choose any other word, and he can only feel his stomach, icing over and freezing his insides. There's still warmth, though, seeping through. Warmth from her, pulling her legs tighter around him. Any other word and he'd be happy for the warmth.

"You don't know—you can't--"

"Dad, I've read the books."

And damn does that make him pause. For a minute, he even regrets it – regrets everything. Sheltering her, protecting her, hiding her.

_Don't regret touching her?_

"I'm not stupid."

He knows that. She's a smart girl.

She's a smart girl, and she knows all too well what she's doing. What she wants to do.

_Don't regret slipping your hand up there_?

Nathan only notices it then, but he pretends he doesn't.

_I thought so_.

The distraction of the revelation leaves him lost in thought. Or not-quite thought. There's a fog in his mind, and he absently thinks to clean his glasses. Which she's taken off. (Seconds ago, but it seems so much longer.)

He's not quite certain how he ended up on his back, and for a second time, he shifts. Bad move, Nathan. It presses him closer to her, presses certain parts closer. Her hand's breezing over all the wrong places and he ought to stop her. Should stop her. Should not let her do that. _Should not let her leave_.

His hands tighten of their own accord, one on her hip and the other where it shouldn't be. A tremor, a murmur, runs through the girl His girl.

_Not yet, she isn't_.

Shilo takes the tightened hands as a prompt to lean forward and kiss him again. She tastes like cinnamon and sin. One hand slides back up his chest, and she awkwardly starts to pull his shirt buttons free

In the fog, a thought wanders by—he really ought to stop her—before it slips away. Nathan barely notices it, instead frowning at the light chill of air on his chest. Three, four buttons undone. His chest is moving a bit, his breath coming out a bit heavier. By the time he's remembered why, she's pulling at the fifth button. Halfway through.

When she leans down, curiously running her hand through the spattering of hair beneath his shirt, it occurs to him, not for the first time, that he should he doing something. His hand slides away from her hip, and ends up on her side, his thumb just below her breast. Even through the night gown, it feels soft. Think of something else. He's supposed to be doing something. _Your daughter?_ No. Maybe.

"Shilo—" He begins again, stopping to bite his lip when she replaces her hand with her mouth. Warm breath on his chest. Nobody's done that in a long, long time. He'sprides himself on self-control. He also likes what she's doing.

Damnit.

He licks his lips and tries again. "We can't. You're..."

_What is she, Nathan_?

He grunts. She's his daughter, above all else. Above him. On him.

_Hot_? _Tight_? _Alive_? Perfect?

Over her shoulder, out of the corner of his eye, he can see the hologram, eyes slightly averted and smirking. Or maybe it's just the angle.

_At least she's willing. More than you can say for that last girl_.

He remembers that. Nobody cared what happened to delinquents. He's always prided himself on self-control, but the mask, the outfit, makes him somebody else. Something about the pain.

_You're willing._

She bites him. Maybe drawing blood.

_The math's not that hard_, _Nathan_.

But God help him, he is. And it feels good. She feels good. Wrong, but good. In a bad way. _Am I right_?


End file.
